


Brave

by Buttros



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, The Stag Night Fix-It (Sherlock: The Sign of Three), They are drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23436805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttros/pseuds/Buttros
Summary: It takes a revealing game of deductions, copious amounts of alcohol and a fed-up sibling for John Watson to see the light.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 20
Kudos: 141





	Brave

**Author's Note:**

> Another work of the quarantine. I'll keep them coming, at this point. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

‘‘You’re not really getting the hang of this game, are you, Sherlock?’’ 

Sherlock hid his smile with his glass, biting his lip, and John felt his stomach flip. Sherlock looked so young now, the liquor making his movements fluid and free. Did it say something about John that this is the most content and happy he’s been in weeks, maybe even years? That it took copious amounts of alcohol and a very drunk best friend to get him _not_ to feel like absolute garbage? He felt like they were Sherlock and John before the fall, before he met Mary and decided to settle down. 

Just thinking about Mary made John’s spirit fall. He tried to get that good buzz feeling again. John eyed the struggling buttons of Sherlock’s shirt. 

‘‘You’ve lost weight’’ John tried to reprimand, his voice dropping a few notes. He brushed off the little paper from his forehead and rubbed his temple, holding his head on two fingers. 

Sherlock shrugged, brushing his paper off too, ‘‘I don’t live with a nagging doctor anymore’’, he licked his lips, looking at John through his eyelashes. 

‘‘That’s all I was to you?’’ John moved his elbows to his knees, coming closer, ‘‘Someone who fed you?’’ 

Sherlock mirrored him, and John shivered when he felt Sherlock’s breath on his mouth, ‘‘You cleaned the house too. That was nice’’ 

John rolled his eyes, but he didn’t pull away, ‘‘Let’s play another game’’ 

‘‘Let’s’’ 

John hummed, suddenly becoming distracted by Sherlock’s hair. There was a single curl on the middle of his forehead, brushing against his eyebrow. It looked soft like silk. John only realized that he’d reached for it when his hand came into view. He cleared his throat, aborting the movement and rubbing his temple, before lacing his fingers together. _Fuck, I’m drunk_ , John thought. 

Sherlock raised that hidden eyebrow, ‘‘Let’s play deductions. If one of us is right the other person drinks’’ 

‘‘That’s not fair. I'm not a genius’’ 

‘‘I was rubbish at the last game and now am 45% more inebriated then you’’ 

John sighed, and even though Sherlock didn’t sound too inebriated, he said ‘‘Fine’’ 

Sherlock smirked, ‘‘You start’’ 

John bit his lip, looking at Sherlock’s clothes to see if anything jumped out. Nothing did, of course. The man looked impeccable. ‘‘You didn’t have lunch today’’ 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, ‘‘I did, actually. You can’t guess, John. You need to observe. You came into contact with a patient with a severe case of influenza’’ 

John drank, ‘‘Not that rare to catch the flu, this time of year’’ 

‘‘But I know it was an autistic child’’ 

John drank again, and raised his eyebrows, ‘‘That’s amazing’’ he laughed, shaking his head at himself at being impressed, even after all this time, ‘‘How did you know?’’ 

‘‘You shower at the hospital. Always. And you take your own hygiene products. But sometimes you wash your hair with the hospital’s shampoo, perhaps because you think it’s stronger. Two other times that you did this, you came into contact with someone with an infectious disease. However, if it was something more serious your demeanour would have changed. You deal with patients with influenza all the time, but you don’t always wash your hair this way. This means that you abandoned protocol, in some way. My guess is that the parents weren’t doing a good job a calming the child, so you stepped in. You are very protective of abused children. The autism part was a shot in the dark, really, but a good one. You’re very compassioned towards people with Asperger's. Thus, an autistic child’’ 

John laughed, amazed. ‘‘You’re amazing’’ he said, quietly, not looking at Sherlock. ‘‘His name is Adam. He had a tummy ache, and his parents were just yelling at him to be quiet. It was horrible to watch’’. He shook his head. 

It was his turn, he realized. He thought of how Sherlock had been so kind and helpful since he came back. John felt a discomfort that he would never admit to. He tried to smile, ‘‘You like Mary’’ 

Sherlock’s eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, and he didn’t make a move to take a sip. 

John looked from Sherlock to his glass, ‘‘So you don’t like her?’’ 

Sherlock drank, ‘‘You had a relationship with James Sholto’’ 

John shook his head, his face falling at the mention of James’ name, but he wouldn’t be distracted, ‘‘Why don’t you like her?’’ 

‘‘The game is called ‘deductions’, not ‘questions’. You liked him, but he didn’t return your feelings’’ 

John exhaled, shaking his head again, ‘‘You don’t like her because you think she will affect our friendship’’ 

Sherlock looked down, as if in thought. Then he drank a little sip, ‘‘He was in love with you. You were the one who didn’t want him’’ 

John’s heart squeezed in his chest, but it was a phantom pain. That was a long time ago. He drank and cleared his throat. ‘‘You are... possessive. Of me’’ 

Sherlock’s jaw clenched, and he opened his mouth just enough to fit the rim of the glass. He shrugged, ‘‘You were angry at Irene Adler’’ 

John shook his head, caught in a whiplash at the change of subject. He thought Sherlock would want to pry open his friendship with James, but no. He drank, ‘‘I mean yeah. She drugged you. It was awful’’, he bit his lip, trying to figure out if Sherlock mentioning her was important. He raised his head, thoughtful, ‘‘You would marry Irene Adler, if she lived here’’ 

Sherlock’s eyes widened before he blinked several times. Then he burst out laughing. 

‘‘Glad you’re amusing yourself’’ John mumbled, not really upset. The thought of Sherlock wanting to marry her was enough to make John wish to be sent into outer space. 

‘‘You are pathetic’’ 

‘‘I’m not drinking to that’’ 

Sherlock laughed again, shaking his head. ‘‘We lived together for years and you didn’t make the most obvious deduction of all. Or you did, but you’ve doubted yourself ever since’’ 

John turned his head, looking at Sherlock’s beautiful amused face, trying to decipher what he meant. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful... why was it suddenly so easy to admit that Sherlock Holmes was beautiful? 

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and looked down at John’s glass, which made John roll his eyes and drink. 

‘‘You think relationships are beneath you’’ 

Sherlock pressed his lips together, all signs of amusement leaving his face, and shook his head once. ‘‘You’re taking more shifts at the hospital because you are bored of your life’’ 

John shrugged and drank, but his mind was focused on the detective, ‘‘So you want to have a relationship’’ 

Sherlock froze, thinking for a moment, and then he drank. ‘‘You loved Sholto, but you weren’t sexually attracted to him. And sex is important to you’’ 

_Okay, so we’re back to James, then_. John’s jaw clenched and he didn’t drink. ‘‘You want a relationship without sex’’ 

Sherlock didn’t drink either, ‘‘You didn’t love him?’’ 

John rolled his eyes, ‘‘I loved him as a friend and respected him as my superior, but I’m not _gay_ ’’ He ignoring the way his stomach turned and his heart squeezed unpleasantly. John sighed, ‘‘Irene is literally you in female form. Why isn’t she enough?’’ 

Sherlock just looked at him for a while, his expression unreadable. He finally took a deep breath, his voice low when he said, ‘‘Why did you say it like that?’’ 

‘‘Said what like what?’’ 

‘‘Why did you say gay like that?’’ 

John’s mouth opened and shut, and he suddenly wished he was sober. The alcohol was making it difficult to think, ‘‘I... I didn’t mean it in a derogatory way’’ 

‘‘Yes, you did’’ 

John blinked a few times, shaking his head. He felt uncomfortable in his own skin, something cold and heavy on his stomach. ‘‘My sister is gay, Sherlock. Several friends from the army were gay. In fact, being gay in the army is more common than people think. I’ve never had any problem-’’ 

‘‘The problem is when people assume that you are, then’’ 

John felt like he couldn't breathe, ‘‘It’s not a problem’’, it came out in a rush. 

‘‘Yes, it is’’ 

John sat up straighter in his chair, shaking of a tremor in his hand, ‘‘Sherlock, I’m not-’’ 

‘‘You have the temerity to patronise me about relationships when it’s you who’s traumatized and emotionally stunned’’ 

John widened his eyes, speechless. 

‘‘Honestly, John’’ Sherlock got up from his chair, swaying a little. The only obvious sign so far that he was drunk, ‘‘Go marry a woman and have babies and make your homophobic daddy proud’’ And he left, walking into his room and shutting the door with a bang. 

John sat in his chair, too stunned to even breathe for a while. At his first shuddering inhale he got up and made his way towards Sherlock’s door. 

‘‘Sherlock, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-’’ 

‘‘Go away, John’ 

John felt like he’d been slapped, like his father’s genes were burning him from the inside out. 

John took a whole bottle of scotch, in Robert Watson’s honour, and left. 

_*_ 

John thought that the world as a whole was ignorant to the fact that scotch had the ability to cleanse all chakras, open your third eye, and make human beings reach nirvana. John felt, ultimately, terrible – he was nauseated, nearly blind and uncoordinated – however his mind had never been clearer. He discovered things about himself that he would have never discovered sober. 

For instance, John Watson was a monster. 

‘‘You are not a monster, John. You never were.’’, Harry Watson said, twirling the wine glass that was filled with apple juice. She looked John dead in the eye, ‘‘You’re a dumbass’’ 

John scoffed, running his hands through his hair, ‘‘Alright’’ 

John Watson was a dumbass. 

‘‘Look, John, its three in the morning. You just showed up at my house insultingly drunk and upset and feeling sorry for yourself – a horrible combination, by the way – so could you just tell me what’s wrong so that I can move on with my life’’ 

John sighed, swaying in front of the sink of Harry’s too small kitchen. Truth be told, he didn’t even know how he’d end up in Harry’s house. ‘‘I don't know why I’m here’’ 

She scoffed, ‘‘You don’t know?’’ 

He got a glass and filled it with tap water, ‘‘Yeah, I don’t know’’ 

She was quiet for a while, and when John turned to look at her, she had her head bowed and her hands in a prayer position. 

‘‘What’’ 

‘‘Then leave, asshole’’ 

‘‘No’’ 

‘‘Why not?’’ 

‘‘I don’t want to go home to Mary’’ John felt like throwing up. 

Harry finally raised her head, a look of surprise and interest on her face, ‘‘Why don’t you want to go home to Mary?’’ 

‘‘I don’t know’’ John swallowed the water fast, a drop of it running down his chin. He wiped it angrily, ‘‘I’m taking more shifts at the hospital too’’ 

Harry looked like she discovered the Americas. ‘‘You are avoiding her’’ 

‘‘Yes’’ 

‘‘Your wife to be’’ 

John rolled his eyes, feeling the usual discomfort of when the weeding was mentioned, and felt himself slurring at the words, ‘‘That’s the one’’ 

She raised her eyebrow, ‘‘Go to Sherlock, then’’ 

John felt nauseated, ‘‘Can’t’’ 

‘‘Why not?’’ 

‘‘He hates me’’ he frowned, suddenly feeling the urge to punch himself repeatedly. 

‘‘It’s like talking to a child’’ Harry mumbled, then, louder, ‘‘Why does he hate you?’’ 

‘‘He-’’ John sighed, sitting down on the chair beside Harry, ‘‘It was a misunderstanding’’ 

‘‘Okay...’’ 

‘‘We were talking about...’’ John inhaled, the held his breath, ‘‘I think I was- I think he is gay’’ 

Harry raised her eyebrows. Then she laughed, ‘‘Yeah, mate. That was obvious from the start. Why would he be upset with you, though?’’ 

John blinked, then frowned, ‘‘It wasn’t obvious’’ 

Harry rolled her eyes, ‘‘Fine. Why is he mad at you?’’ 

‘‘I was... I hurt his feelings. With the way that I denied being gay, I guess’’ 

She nodded, humming. ‘‘It does sound like a misunderstanding. How about you give him some time, and then apologise?’’ 

John nodded back, but he didn’t feel any better. ‘‘I don’t feel any better’’ 

Harry sighed, ‘‘Of course you don’t. This isn’t why you’ve come to me in desperation. Or why you’ve been avoiding your fiancée’’ 

‘‘Then why?’’ 

She smiled, and there was a hint of pity in her face. ‘‘Dad really did you dirty, didn’t he?’’ 

John shook his head, getting up to sway by the sink again, feeling like he was going to be sick at any minute, ‘‘What does he have to do with anything?’’ 

‘‘Everything’’, she said, following him, and turned John to her by tugging at his shoulder. 

John was pulled into a hug. The Watsons were, historically, not huggers. The last Watson that hugged John had been his mother. Right now, he could have sworn he smelt her fruity shampoo. John cleared his throat, because the Watsons weren’t criers, either. 

‘‘Robert made sure that shit was ingrained deep within our psyches’’ Harry murmured; her hands were running soothingly on John’s back. 

John felt tired, all of the sudden. He had the presence of mind to know that it wasn’t because of the alcohol, or the inhumane hours he was pulling at the hospital. It wasn’t because he was running around to avoid Mary, or constantly hiding the fact that he disliked it when she came along to solve cases, or when she interacted with Sherlock. 

John was tired of who he was. 

‘‘I think that you need to do some soul searching before this weeding, John’’ Harry said, pulling away to look John in the eye. ‘‘This isn’t fair to you or Sherlock’’ 

John swallowed, ‘‘And it isn’t fair to Mary’’ 

Harry grimaced, but she said, ‘‘Sure, her too. Whatever.’’ 

John took a deep breath, separating himself from Harry, ‘‘I’m calling it off’’ 

Harry smiled, but then her face turned alarmed when John pulled out his phone. ‘‘What, right here?’’ 

‘‘A text would be bad, right? I should call her’’ 

Harry looked at John incredulously for a second. There she burst out laughing. 

John watched her for moment, ‘‘What’s the matter?’’ 

She had a hand on her belly, bending over, completely in hysterics. ‘‘You... you’’ 

‘‘She’ll talk me out of it if I do it to her face’’ 

This got Harry to stop laughing and calm down, her face turning somber. ‘‘That doesn’t surprise me, actually. She has a way of making fun of you and tearing you down’’ 

John was infinitely relieved that he went to Harry, now. He could never be sure if Mary’s behaviour was all in his head, or if he was coming up with reasons not to do it. Harry put on a pair of fluffy boots and a dressing gown, taking her keys in her hand. 

‘‘Come on. You don’t live far from here. We can walk’’ 

John widened his eyes, ‘‘You’ll go with me?’’ 

‘‘Yeah, asshole. You look like you’re going to go into a coma at any second, now’’ She led John by the arm out of the house, ‘‘Also, I don’t want to miss the opportunity of seeing you telling her off. I hate Mary. That bitch is condescending as fuck’’ 

‘‘Right’’ John sighed, relishing on the freezing cold air of the night. His body was so warm he felt like he would melt. ‘‘I’m going to melt’’ he said, a bit concerned, but Harry just scoffed. 

They walked for a few seconds before Harry tugged at his arm, ‘‘Go on, then. What will you say to her?’’ 

John took a second to remember who they were talking about. Oh, right. His fiancée. ‘‘That I don’t want to get married. I’ll tell her that... that I don’t love her’’ 

Harry was silent for a while, ‘‘Okay’’ 

They continued walking. After two more houses, ‘‘Sherlock doesn’t... like it when I date people. I- I don’t like to make him sad’’ 

Harry hummed, ‘‘Okay... what else?’’ 

‘‘What else?’’ 

‘‘Yeah, what else about Sherlock?’’ 

John pictured Sherlock’s beautiful face. _Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,_ ‘‘I- I prefer it if he’s happy’’ 

‘‘You prefer making him happy than making Mary happy?’’ 

John hiccupped. But it might have been a sob, ‘‘Yes’’, he inhaled deeply, ‘‘Does that make me a horrible person?’’ 

‘‘No’’ Harry said, and her tone was final, decisive, ‘‘It just means you love someone and don’t love somebody else’’ 

John was grateful that she knew what she was talking about, because John himself had no clue. Sometimes he loved his sister more than life itself, ‘‘I love you’’ 

Harry scoffed, ‘‘Shut up, dork’’ 

‘‘I envy you’’ 

Harry’s eyebrows lifted, ‘‘Now this should be interesting. Why do you envy me?’’ 

‘‘Because you never had to please him. I am him. I look exactly like him. I was a soldier, I fought in the war. I am him’’ 

Harry sighed, ‘‘For the millionth time, John. You are not him. Stop saying that. What else about Sherlock?’’ 

‘‘I-’’ he conjured Sherlock’s face again, ‘‘I like that he is gay and wants sex’’ 

Harry made a sound like she was holding back a cough. When John looked at her, she had her fist in her mouth, ‘‘Okay... why?’’ 

‘‘Because...’’ John sighed, ‘‘He’s fucking gorgeous, isn’t he? He should- he should be worshiped’’ 

Harry hummed, ‘‘Right, but why do you like that he is gay?’’ 

John thought for a second, ‘‘Because then it means that he doesn’t like Irene Adler’’ 

‘‘Jesus Christ’’ Harry mumbled, shaking her head, then her tone turned very soft, like she was talking to a child, ‘‘He could not like Irene and be straight’’ 

‘‘I don’t want him to like anyone’’ 

Harry’s face lit up, ‘‘But then who will be worshiping him?’’ 

‘‘I-’’ John blinked a few times, then he stopped, taking in a huge breath, ‘‘Oh’’ 

Harry nodded, ‘‘There you go’’ 

‘‘Oh’’ 

‘‘I know, right. Shocking. Who could have seen this coming?’’ 

‘‘But I’m...’’ John said, and then he whispered, ‘‘But I’m not gay’’ 

Harry’s face was overcome with pity, again ‘‘Think about kissing Sherlock’’ 

John did, and he quite liked it. ‘‘Okay’’ 

‘‘Think about cuddling with him, hugging him, seeing him naked’’ 

John did, nodding and starting to smile, ‘‘Okay’’ 

‘‘You are not our father. You are so much more, John. And I know that what you feel for Sherlock defines you. Expands you. Fulfils you’’ she took John’s face in her hands, and they looked at each other’s eyes, shades of blue that mirrored each other, ‘‘This moment - right here, you and me - can be the first day of the rest of your like. Or you can keep getting it wrong until one of you actually dies of frustration. The truth of it is: you and Sherlock were made for each other’’ 

John hiccupped again. It might have been a sob. 

‘‘I’m going to need you to get your head out of your arse John, for God’s sake’’ 

John nodded, and both of them were smiling ridiculously wide. He felt so relieved that he could fall asleep right then and there, ‘‘I’m falling asleep right here and now’’ 

Harry’s smile dropped and her eyes widened, ‘‘Wait, what?’’ 

Her frantic hands on his arms were the last think he felt before everything went dark. 

_*_ 

John has always considered himself a brave man. Impulsive, at times, but nonetheless capable of making hard decisions under pressure – decisions which rarely kept him up at night, or filled him with regret. He didn’t mull things over, and he didn’t hold grudges against himself or others. What is done is done. 

When he was in the army, this meant jumping in land mines to try and rescue his comrades, pulling out bullets and cutting off limbs before sadness and compassion could freeze him. 

When he was a teenager, this meant coming between his sister and his father’s fists, holding the old man down while he screamed bloody murder. John would wear his bruises like battle scars. 

When he was thirteen, this meant calling the police and, later, the funeral office after his mother was found in the attic. It took two days for tears to finally fall, by which point he was rendered completely incapable of getting out of his bedroom for weeks. 

Finally, when he was thirty-nine, this meant walking into 221 B Baker Street with a suitcase in one hand and a bouquet of daisies and sunflowers in the other. 

Sherlock only looked up from his microscope when John set the bag on the floor. He frowned, ‘‘John, what-’’ 

‘‘This is rather forward of me, I realise’’ He said, his heart was hurting his chest from how fast it was beating, ‘‘But I was wondering if I could move in with you’’ 

Sherlock blinked a few times, looking at John up and down, before getting up from his chair and coming around the kitchen table to stand in front of him, ‘‘You called it off. The wedding, you... you called it off’’ 

John smiled, ‘‘Yes’’ 

Sherlock inhaled deeply, biting his bottom lip before saying, ‘‘Why?’’, very softly. 

John shrugged, feigning indifference ‘‘Wasn’t the life that I wanted. Wasn’t the person I wanted to spend it with’’ 

Sherlock nodded, and he rubbed his chest absently, like it was hurting too. He looked down at the bouquet. 

John raised it, ‘‘If this is stupid you are allowed to hit me with it’’ 

Sherlock let out a breathy laughter, and took the daisies and sunflowers from John’s hand, looking at them intently. ‘‘It isn’t’’ he whispered, daintily, his chin to his chest, a blush on his cheeks. His eyes met John’s, ‘‘Stupid, I mean’’ 

And seeing Sherlock with safety googles on his forehead, curls in disarray, an overused nightgown and bare feet, John could safely say that he’d witnessed a miracle. 

‘‘Beautiful flowers for a beautiful man’’ He said, quietly, smiling as Sherlock’s blush only deepened. 

‘‘That-’’ Sherlock shook his head, taking a few steps back, ‘‘That was horrible, John. That was the most horrible thing I’ve ever heard in my life’’ 

John shrugged, ‘‘I think it was sweet’’ 

‘‘It wasn’t’’ 

‘‘I’m a master at flirting’’ 

‘‘You are not’’ 

John extended his hand, ‘‘Let me throw them away, then’’ 

Sherlock hugged the flowers close to his chest, ‘‘No. They’re mine’’ and he smiled, and bent his head down to smell them. ‘‘No one has ever...’’, he started, but shut himself up by walking around the table to retrieve a vase and place them in water. 

John watched him for a while. Then, ‘‘Sherlock’’ 

He looked up. 

‘‘I’m going to be forward again’’ 

Sherlock smiled, ‘‘Go on’’ 

‘‘I don’t think we are going to be needing two bedrooms’’ 

Sherlock let out a breathy laughter again, ‘‘That is rather forward of you’’. He tried to brush his hair and, instead, struggled to remove his googles. His blush deepened, like he was embarrassed of having them on in the first place. 

John’s cheeks hurt from smiling, ‘‘You are ridiculous’’ 

Sherlock scoffed, but he looked even more sheepish, ‘‘This version of flirting is even worse, John’’ 

‘‘Oh?’’ John walked over to him, ‘‘Perhaps I should try a version that doesn’t involve talking, then’’ 

Sherlock wet his lips, looking at John’s, blue eyes unblinking like they didn’t want to miss a thing. ‘‘That would be best, yes’’ 

John hummed, nodding, coming closer. 

This was that moment when everything fell in their right tracks, when planets aligned and the universe let go of its chaos and confusion. When everything finally made sense. John felt at the brink of something holy, a nirvana which, at last, couldn’t be misattributed to alcohol. Of realizing that the genes of abusive fathers weren’t definitive, that even someone as ordinary as John Watson could worship and be worshiped by a soulmate. 

John put his lips to better, more productive, use. 

With Sherlock’s permission, he would be doing that indefinitely. 

_*_ 

‘‘John?’’ 

‘‘Yes’’ 

‘‘Why is half you face completely bruised?’’ 

‘‘Oh, you know... Had to fight seven men to get those flowers for you’’ 

‘‘Oh, really?’’ 

‘‘Yes. Quite nasty, but nothing I wasn’t trained for’’ 

… 

‘‘You fell on you face, didn’t you?’’ 

‘‘...yes’’

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are welcomed and cherished. 
> 
> <3


End file.
